' or bearin' witness? There be naybours, an'"--she pointed
a finger at Mrs Climoe--"there be livers-by. Now stroll along, the
lot of 'ee, and annoy somebody else that lives unprotected!"

She said it so quietly and decisively, standing motionless, that
Lippity-Libby, coming around the corner of the lane with paste-pot
and brush, and with a roll of bills tucked in his armpit, mistook the
group for a chance collection of cheerful gossips. He drew up,
lowered his pail, and began in a business-like way to slap paste upon
the upper flap of a loft-door across the way, chatting the while over
his shoulder.

"Good evenin', naybours! Now what (says you to yourselves) might I
be carryin' here under my arm in the cool o' the day. Is it a
Bye-Law? No, it is not a Bye-Law. Or is it a Tender? No, it is not
a Tender. Or is it a Bankrup' Stock, or a Primrose Feet, or at the
worst a Wesleyan Anniversary? Or peradventure is it a Circus? . . .
Sold again! 'Tis a Recruitin' Meetin', an' for Saturday."

Having slapped on the paste, he unfolded a bill and eyed it
critically.

"'YOUR KING AND COUNTRY WANT YOU.'--That's pretty good for Polpier,
eh? Flatterin', one might almost say."

His cheerfulness held the group with their passions arrested.
Nicky-Nan turned about and stared at the placard as Lippity-Libby
smoothed it over the paste, whistling.

At that moment Un' Benny Rowett, hands in trouser-pockets, came
dandering along. He, too, taking the geniality of every one for
granted, halted, spread his legs wide and conned the announcement.

"Oh!" said he after a pause, wheeling about. "Still harpin' on they
Germans? Well, Mr Hambly, sir, I don't know how it strikes you, but
I'm sick an' tired of them dismal blackguards."

"I can't bear it," said Mrs Steele, walking to and fro in her
drawing-room. She ceased wringing her handkerchief, and came to a
halt confronting the Vicar, who stood moodily leaning an arm on the
mantelshelf.

"I believe," he answered after a pause, "you would find it worse to
bear in a month or so if I hadn't offered."

"Why didn't you consult me?"

"I wrote to the Bishop--"

"The 'Bishop!' Well . . . what did _he_ advise?"

"Oh, of course he temporised. . . . Yes, I know what you are going to
say. My consulting him was a momentary throw-back of loyalty.
The official Churches--Roman Catholic, Greek, Anglican, the so-called
Free--are alike out of it in this business. Men in England, France